


The Nightcap

by NegansOtherWife



Series: Tumblr Requests [9]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Language, One Shot, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 18:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NegansOtherWife/pseuds/NegansOtherWife
Summary: He couldn't tell you the things he felt, so he buried them between the pages and gave them to you instead.





	The Nightcap

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little slow to update my AO3 with the Tumblr requests I've had in the past. If you haven't read this one, you're in for a treat. x
> 
> My Tumblr: https://negansaysyouearnwhatyoutake.tumblr.com

Like any other night, The Sanctuary’s underground bar was in full swing the minute the Sun had begun to set. The thought saddened you. Why the inhabitants of the factory seemed content with the way life was, their grief manifested in other ways. They flooded the bar before the clock barely hit the number nine. Last month it had been 10 o’clock.

Weeks before that it’d been midnight…

You hated being down here. Daddy hadn’t been kind when he hit the bottle, so like a second instinct engraved into your skin by time’s hardships—you avoided places like these that tended to breed belligerent thoughts and backlash from unsuspecting individuals like yourself.

Yet, tonight was different. 

_I just kind of put my feelings away somewhere after that…_

You were here for him, and if you got your way…you’d be leaving with him.

As you push through a wall of dampened bodies, the music from the live band reverberates into your very being.

_Something really is wrong with me. And I don’t know what it is._

“Dwight,” He cocks his head in acknowledgment yet his eyes remain trained on the glass clutched between his tense grip.

_I wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet._

“Sit down, Y/N.” He motions to the empty seat beside him before signaling to the bartender. Two glasses of amber colored liquid appear before each of you. 

“You don’t come here often,” He observes, noting your uneasiness. “Lost?”

He’s right to presume that but instead of answering you down the contents of the glass with a wince.

He cocks his brow letting a sardonic smile unfurl across his features, inquiring, “Another one?” 

Against your better judgement, you agree. Your head spins, shifts on its axis as the band begins to play a number even louder and angrier than the last. Although, its worth it as he shifts closer so that he can hear you talk. He reeks of stale cigarettes and liquor but underneath you can detect his natural aroma. Bergamot and malt, like a tap beer but more wholesome. 

“I read the book that you gave me,” You finally start, gaining the courage to address why you’d really come here. You just hadn’t factored alcohol into the equation, “it was interesting.”

“Perks of a Wallflower,” He comments tipping back his glass.

“Is that what its called?” The cover was faded and the pages distressed but the meaning had been there. Caught between the pages, you’d seen what was apparent and what was not. It’d been blatantly there this whole time, you just weren’t brave enough to see it. 

“I thought of you when I found it.” 

This was nothing new and it’s been a routine that you’d come to enjoy. Dwight had seen you reading a book on the grass beside lines of drying laundry one day and offered you a book from his personal library. Weeks after that there’d been a new book almost every other day in your favorite spot. 

It’d only been today, mere minutes ago, that you realized the highlighting in the books had come for him.

First, you’d hardly noticed. Just three words in _SlaughterHouse-Five_ : ‘ _So it goes._ ’ 

A sentence in _Of Mice and Men: ‘Maybe ever’body in the whole damn world is scared of each other.’_

And one in _Wuthering Heights_ , which was quite odd because you’d come to learn that he wasn’t a fan of period pieces. Even so, the words had been highlighted and the page dog-eared: ‘ _Terror made me cruel._ ’

It’s taken you a moment as you’d lingered on the words, cloaked in a luminescent yellow, too bright for your reality. It seemed almost out of place, yet at the same time like it’d always been there for you to find. 

Grabbing the books that Dwight had given you from the milk crates beside your bed, you’d mentally cursed yourself for the ignorance you’d shown. They seemed to jump from the pages now. Fragments of narratives that when compiled together illustrating something larger. 

“Still sulking over that broad, D.” Tito, a fellow Savior nudges Dwight as he shuffles by with several glass bottles in hand. “Better luck next time?”

Broad?

“It’s nothing.” He chances a hasty glance your way, motioning for another round. It’s not nothing. Your heart tells you as much. 

A beer appears and you grasp the beverage, tipping it back so that it disappears at a pace that rivals his. Liquid courage. Regardless of the _broad_ , he’d been sulking over, you had feelings that demanded to be known. Even if they were unrequited.

Beads of perspiration gather on the side of his glass, he thumbs them away almost distractedly before resting his gaze on you. Quietly uttering, “To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There are no other pearls to be found in the dark folds of life.”

“ _Les Miserables_ ,” You recount after a moment, a tad bit of awe leaking into your words. It seemed that a tipsy Dwight liked to recite literature.

“Yes,” He moves closer, first your knees and than glasses touch. He leans even closer, “I have another book for you.”

“Where?”

“My room, that is if you’re…”

You feel her presence before her voice can reach either of your ears. The words are a sullen whisper full of dead commitments and stale affection. “Hey, D.” 

“Sherry,” Waving your hand in greeting, the tense exchange only lasts for several minutes as she waits for her drink.

“You should come sit with us—?” Her eyes linger on the numerous empty bottles that lay in your wake, before glancing in your direction. “Maybe when you’re done here.”

You’d meant to be more subtle but the liquor on your tongue loosens your lips. “Are you going to go sit with her?” Everything in your heart wills him to say no. That he’ll stay. 

He brushes the question off with a shrug. “She only wants me when Negan isn’t around.” 

The label comes off the bottle in your hand. Something of a nervous habit, you’d find if you continued to drink like this. Deep breath. Followed by a slightly shallow one. 

“I want you around.” There’s a slight tremor in your speech. 

“Oh, yeah?” A slight tic becomes a small smirk. Just for a moment until realizes that he might miss his chance. 

“Yeah…” The smoothness of his lips is the most divine feeling. The innermost part like wet, hot silk between your tongue. Before he delves forward entwining your tongue with his and you think there can be nothing better. A precarious hand delves beneath your shirt pulling you off the stool and between his thighs. There isn’t a part of you that isn’t invaded by him. 

“Broad?” You gasp pulling away for the air that you require, yet is not demanded. Heart and mind, notorious enemies. 

“Do you remember the third book I gave you?”

It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts. They’re floating several inches above your head, like dust particles caught in rays of sunshine. “Uh, was it _The Things They Carried_?”

“Close,” A small grin and the warmth of his palm seals endless promises into your lower back. They make you shiver with the sheer depth of what may come, “but it was _The Great Gatsby_. The cover was torn.” He begins to recite, the words not quite about love, but not quite anything else, “ _The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly_.”

You’re absolutely awe-struck, pushed closer in the crowded room by impatient individuals. Neither of you minds, pressing beating hearts closer against one another. He puts his lips close to your ear, his warm breath tickles your neck. Over his shoulder, you catch Sherry’s gaze and are almost tempted to look away. But you can’t, instead emboldened to gaze back. He was yours or he would be soon enough. 

“I didn’t know you were such a bookworm.”

He looks quite sheepish, burrowing into the nape of your neck. “I’m not. But I saw you Y/N, every damn day beneath that tree. Escaping this shitty world with a book in your hands and I thought…‘what the hell’,” With a careless shrug he retracts himself from your arms. “Maybelle said you used to be an English major.” He looks embarrassed. You’d talk to your sister later.

He continues, once you assure him you’re not mad for prying.“I’d read a book and then highlight something that I liked, it didn’t take me long to realize that I was highlighting things that reminded me of you…things I wanted to tell you.”

_‘And I guess I realized at that moment that I really did love her. Because there was nothing to gain, and that didn’t matter.’_

“…fuck but I’m not trying to scare you, Y/N. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really like you and if you’re willing…”

“Dwight,” You interrupt his ramblings, putting some of his insecurities to rest. Over your shoulder, you catch Sherry’s eye before mentally saying ‘fuck it’. If he had any feelings for her he’d sending her books with hidden messages. This is for the best, you try to convey to her with a look. There’d only be pain and loathing with her, unrequited love and bitterness. He wouldn’t have to wear his love like a scar. With you, it’d be different. “How about that nightcap?”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos make me write better and faster! I just love hearing what you guys have to say. x


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